I dragged Lyla around town this afternoon on various errands, much to her chagrin, and at Target things came to a head as she mounted a serious rebellion in the ice cream aisle.
"No cart! NO CART! OUT!" Somehow in the span of those five words she managed to Houdini one leg up over the handle.
"Whoa, Lyla. I see a little girl who wants to be strapped in to the cart."
"No staps! Out! OUT!" Then followed a series of whine-cries that sounded approximately like this: "Moo-noo-noo-dada-uppeez-uppeez-dada-WAAAAH-NOOOO-WAAAAAAAAAH!"
So I shoved the ice cream back in the freezer, extracted Lyla from the cart and abandoned it, just walked out of the store. It was either that or beat myself unconscious with a bag of tater tots; those were literally the only two options I saw for myself.
She was much happier at home, as you see in the above photo where she's reading a counting book and actually counting--incorrectly counting, but counting nonetheless. I was happier, too. Never should've gone to Target in the first place given our respective moods at the time.
In other news, this evening Julie witnessed Lyla produce urine while sitting on the potty, which is epic.
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